


A Bit Too Much Rum In The Punch

by afteriwake



Series: Chains Of Love [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas Morning, Christmas Party, Drunken Confessions, Eventual Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, F/M, Light Angst, POV Molly Hooper, Poor Molly, Poor Sherlock, Season/Series 02, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-08 18:40:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5508596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the annual Barts Christmas party Sherlock tells Molly something she just can’t believe, something she thinks he only believes because he’s a bit too much in his cups, but when he tells her again Christmas morning she realizes he truly does feel that way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elennemigo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elennemigo/gifts).



> So this was written for my friend **elennemigo** who saw the Christmas Countdown I was doing on Tumblr and asked for a Sherlolly fic with one of the prompts I'd already answered on there (“ _'we’re co workers who hate each other but you had too much to drink at the staff christmas party and admitted your love for me i don’t know how to act around you now'_ ”), and I decided "Eh, why not?" because she's awesome. ::snuggles:: Enjoy, sweetie!

He hated Christmas. He hated the fake good cheer that people put forward, he hated the decorations, he hated the carols and the songs on the radio, he hated every single thing about the holiday.

And yet here he was, at Barts holiday party, mingling with everyone.

She would be lying if she didn’t say she was absolutely shocked by that.

She leaned over towards Meena, stirring her drink. Stamford had warned her when she came in, over an hour later than most, thanks to a backlog of bodies, that one of the interns had slipped an entire bottle of rum or three into the punch, so she’d been sipping it rather slowly, more content to stir it. “Why on earth is Sherlock here?” she asked.

Meena shrugged, her gaze on the rather attractive new intern at the Barts Heart Centre. “Not sure. All I know is he came down forty minutes ago and went straight for the punch.”

Molly’s eyes widened. “Doesn’t he know there’s enough rum in the punch to stun an ox?”

“Oh, I’m fairly sure a genius like him could tell on the first sip,” she said, having a sip of the aforementioned punch. “I don’t think he _cared_.” She looked over at Molly. “He seemed to be in a rather glum mood when he noticed you weren’t here.”

“He barely tolerates me,” she said shaking her head. “I mean, I’ve tried getting him to notice me. Putting on a bit of lipstick, giving him all the body parts he could ask for, giving him his choice of corpses…and he just brushes me off like I’m nothing.”

Meena gave her a strange look and then shrugged her shoulders, the look melting away. “Well, he came over and asked for you and I said you’d probably head home instead of coming here thanks to the backlog and then he headed straight to the punch bowl and parked himself there,” she said. “And he’s had at least…six cups of punch? Maybe seven?”

Molly groaned inwardly. She’d never had an experience with a drunken Sherlock but she doubted it would be pleasant. She set her half drunken cup down and smoothed down her dress before looking at Meena. “Well, I suppose if he was looking for me, for whatever reason he must have had, I suppose I should tell him I’m here.”

Meena gave her a smile. “Go get him, love,” she said, giving her an encouraging smile and a thumbs up.

Molly grinned back slightly and shook her head. It wasn’t like that. It really wasn’t. Sure, she fancied the man. Who wouldn’t? He was handsome, very handsome, and intelligent. A bit of a prat sometimes, sure, but he was interesting. And he was very alluring. He captured her attention. But he wasn’t interested in a nobody like her. It was time she realized that, moved on. He would never see her the way she saw him.

She got closer and then tapped him on the shoulder as she approached him from behind. He turned around and gave her a wide smile. “Molly,” he said.

She blinked. “Hello, Sherlock,” she said, slightly confused. “Meena said you had wanted to see me.”

He nodded, a bit more emphatically than normal. “I wanted to see you. Talk to you. It was important, but I can’t…” He made gestures with his hands in front of his face. “Brain’s a bit fuddled right now.”

“Well, you’ve had quite a bit to drink,” she said sympathetically. “It happens.”

He nodded, and then frowned. “It was important, though. It had to do with the party.”

“This party?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Other party.”

“Oh,” she said quietly. She had hoped he’d forgotten about the party at his home. _She’d_ certainly wanted to forget about it. She gave him a small smile and set a hand on his arm. “It’s all right, Sherlock. I’m sure you’ll remember tomorrow.”

“I need to remember _now_ , though,” he said. He appeared to think hard for a moment and then he brightened. “I think it had to do with how I felt about you. That I cared. And how much I cared.”

“Sherlock…” she said, beginning to blush.

“I think it had to do with me being in love with you,” he said looking at her with a grin. She turned bright red and removed her arm. He frowned at her then. “Molly?”

“I…I need to go,” she said, turning around and pushing her way through the crowds of people until she was outside, making her way all the way until she was all the way outside to hail a cab to head home. He couldn’t…he couldn’t _possibly_ be in love with her. No…no, there was no way. It was the rum talking. When he was sober, he wouldn’t feel the same way.

She was sure of it.


	2. Chapter 2

She had managed to get Christmas Eve and Christmas Day off, as thanks for taking care of the backlog and doing the favor for Mycroft Holmes. She was glad for that. She didn’t want to set foot in the morgue when there was a chance Sherlock would be there, not after his drunken…it couldn’t possibly be a confession. His drunken mistaken rambling, that’s what it was. She didn’t want to be around him and have him possibly remember his words, knowing what a mistake he had made saying them. Of course, with all of the rum in the punch, there was also a good chance he wouldn’t even remember.

She’d half expected to come home Christmas Eve to find he’d broken into her flat, to see him as comfortable as he pleased on her sofa, wanting to chat. But he wasn’t there, and she was glad for that. The party at Baker Street had been on the twentieth, and then the party for Barts had been just the day before. How could three days have been enough time for him to have had this grand epiphany? There was no way. She put away her groceries and then sorted out her meal for the evening. She’d had a few invitations to meals at friends homes, but to be honest, she’d thought it best to stay home, have a quiet evening in. 

Christmas was always a hard day for her. It always reminded her of what she no longer had. She was alone in the world; her parents were gone, and her brother had basically written her off ages ago thanks to a spat with their parents that she’d taken their side in. Not even when their mum had died did he bother to patch things up. She could have a sister-in law or brother-in-law and nieces or nephews and she wouldn’t know. She could always find out, hire a private detective or even ask Sherlock to do her the favor but really, there wasn’t a point. And the holidays just made it hurt a bit more than usual.

And having… _this_ , whatever it was, with Sherlock just made it all the worse. She knew it was pathetic she fancied the man, she did. She had tried to move on, albeit in a slightly childish way, and she’d moved right on to a criminal mastermind. She really shouldn’t try. She shouldn’t bother. She was sure all of this with Sherlock was just a gigantic misunderstanding, and then when it was all sorted she should just take a nice, long hiatus from romantic inclinations from men completely.

She made herself her meal and ate it, the steady noise of the telly in the background, though she barely paid attention. She toyed with the idea of watching a holiday film or two, but to be honest she really wasn’t in the mood. The holiday spirit had been dimming ever since the party at Baker Street, to be honest, and she really just wanted Christmas to be over and done with. She put her dishes in the sink to deal with them in the morning and after turning off the telly went to her bedroom to get ready for bed and then pulled back the cover and slipped into bed, trying to go to sleep.

Trying being the operative word.

She slept fitfully and finally gave up after a few hours. She looked at the clock on her nightstand and saw it was nearly half past one. She threw her covers off, putting on her slippers and grabbing her dressing gown off the hook on the back of her bedroom door before heading towards the kitchen to get some hot cocoa, preferable with a shot of some Bailey’s in it.

She’d just walked through to her kitchen, turned on her light and opened her refrigerator door when she realized she wasn’t alone. She shut the door slowly and then walked back to her sitting room and moved over to the sofa, seeing Sherlock lying there, sofa pillow under his head and the crocheted throw that was on the chair nearby negligently thrown over his body. She was surprised by that. “Sherlock?” she asked.

“You’re supposed to be asleep,” he said, not rolling over to face her.

“You’re supposed to be at Baker Street,” she said, crossing her arms. He rolled over and her eyes widened as she saw the very ugly bruise forming under his eye. “Oh my Lord, what happened?”

“I came home from the party last night and proceeded to play the violin all evening. John was not amused. We had a row this morning and I left. I spent the day roaming London, hung over and in a foul mood. Earlier this evening someone tried to mug me, thinking I was an easy target. He got in a lucky punch before I dislocated his shoulder and broke four of his ribs,” he said, sitting up. “Lestrade was going to take me back to Baker Street but I had him take me to a bolt hole five blocks away and then came here.”

She hesitated a moment, then reached over and lightly reached over and touched the area under the bruise. It wasn’t black and blue yet, but it would be. “You need ice,” she said.

“I know,” he said. 

“I’ll go get you some,” she said, beginning to pull her hand away. He reached up to grab it, however, caressing it. “Sherlock?”

“I do remember what I said at the party yesterday. Or rather, two days ago, now,” he said, running his thumb along her palm. “That I had something to tell you, about how I felt towards you.”

She looked down. “You couldn’t have meant it,” she said quietly.

“Don’t presume to tell me how I feel, Molly,” he said, though there was no hint of anger in his words. “It is true I am not free with my emotions. I have not been that way since my youth. I’ve bottled them up, kept them hidden under lock and key. It’s been safer that way, at least for me. But I have realized, over time, that I care for you, deeply. And I am fairly sure I love you. I think I will be more sure as time goes on, if you will allow me to spend time with you in a more than friendly way.”

She removed her hand from his grip and he looked up at her with a frown, but after a moment she moved both her hands to his face, caressing it gently. “Now, _that_ sounds more like you, Sherlock,” she said, giving him a warm smile. 

He gave her a small smile in return. “I suppose it did sound a bit preposterous when I was pissed, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, it did sound a bit unbelievable,” she said with a nod.

“Well, are you willing to give me the chance to see if my hypothesis is correct?” he asked, reaching for her to pull her closer to him, his movements tentative. 

She allowed him to pull her closer and he settled his hands on her waist as she leaned in more. “Yes, Sherlock. I think this is an experiment I would definitely like to help you run,” she said. “Would it be all right if we sealed this partnership with a kiss?”

He nodded slowly. “I would be amenable to that,” he said.

“Good, she replied before leaning in to kiss him softly. He kissed her back, keeping the kiss soft and tender, and she felt filled with a certain sense of elation. This was the start of something interesting, she knew, and she couldn’t wait to find out what.


End file.
